


Alex

by MoonPuppy



Category: X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Off-screen rape (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonPuppy/pseuds/MoonPuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long, dark time for Alex Krycek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alex

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you do when you get into an argument with your muse? He didn't want a happy ending, I didn't want a death story; although after two days of arguing, I was tempted to kill him just to shut him up. I could see it, too. Krycek dead, Mulder hysterical, Scully sullen because she didn't get to kill him, and Skinner being, well, Skinner. (The Scullymuse isn't mine. I think she escaped from someone when TerMa switched to RatB. Anyone missing one?) 
> 
> This came about because BarbG let her Krycekmuse loose. Mine wanted to play and locked Jim and Blair in his trunk. 
> 
> Many, many, many thanks to Zen for her screams of anguish, her undying support, and her incredibly invaluable input. I owe her my heart. 
> 
> Spoilers: I don't think so. Except for the eternal Tunguska/Terma ones. 
> 
> Warning: Doom and gloom and dark despair; people dying everywhere. Kidding. I'm just kidding. 
> 
> Note: This was written over a year ago, so obviously this last season, hell, Mulder's abduction hadn't occured yet. Rereading it, I hadn't realized what saps my muses were ::snicker::. So, I guess, be prepared for just a touch of sap to add to the pain and angst. MP 7-1-01.

_They should know better than to leave me alone in a room with a gun._ The words ghosted through Alex Krycek's mind, leaving him giggling hysterically as the barrel of the gun slid up and down the side of his face. From his temple to his jaw and back up again; relentlessly the pattern was followed. Down. Up. Down. Up. No variation. Never letting it slip under his chin, because he knew that if he did, the finger would settle on the trigger and tighten, just enough, just barely enough, to set off a chain of events that would surely upset the maid.

_The maid._ He giggled again, looking around the pit that had become his home since the downfall of the Consortium. There was a window, mostly blocked in with cardboard to keep out the chill of winter; the glass long gone in some running turf battle between neighborhood gangs. There was a radiator under the window, used as a shelf because it had long-ago stopped functioning as a heat source. The walls were primarily peeling paper with no pattern left, stained with years of water, urine, and God knows what else, barely lit by the single naked bulb that hung from a frayed cord near the center of the ceiling; one spot on the wall lighter than the rest, a reminder that in kinder times a mirror or picture had once graced the room. There'd been a sink in one corner, a sure contributor to some of the water spots, but this too was missing, leaving behind the broken stubs of pipes that once fed and supported it.

Alex sat in the only chair in the room; the fact that it had four legs and a seat a tribute to its manufacturer, not its ability to keep from being thrown through or at things in its life. He slouched there, staring at the only other furniture in his room - his home - a narrow, sagging mattress, stained far worse than the walls, supported by an iron frame and springs, laughingly called a bed; a bed that was his sole means of making a living now-a-days.

He sighed deeply, gathered himself, and stood, moving stiffly over to the bed. Putting the gun down, he began emptying his pockets, starting with his jeans, front, then back, no use bothering with the left side, nothing in them. He then dug into his jacket pockets, outer, then inner, both sides in the jacket; he could reach in the left inside pocket with one hand. He piled everything he gathered on the bed, sorting it out listlessly. One pile was change; one pile crumpled paper bills; one pile crumpled paper that wasn't money; one pile small tubes of lube; the final pile condoms. His brow wrinkled, he sorted through his pockets once again, then sat, listlessly on the bed next to his possessions. _Fuck_ , he thought as he grabbed his gun and, with a practiced motion, popped the clip loose and counted the rounds. _Double fuck_ , ran through his mind. Sitting down, he positioned the gun between his legs and pulled the slide back just enough to peer into the chamber. Blinking, he released the slide and replaced the clip.

"One bullet," whispered from his lips. "One fucking bullet." A gleam lit up his face. "Well I'd better not miss then, hadn't I?" He cackled gleefully, then shut up when the pounding on the wall started. He stuck his tongue out at the offending wall, then listlessly picked though the piles on the bed. "Okay, Alex, let's get hold of ourselves, okay?"

"Why not?" he softly answered himself, used to such one-sided conversations. "It's what everybody else does."

"Shut the fuck up and let me count," he murmured as he added up his net worth. A few moments later he was stuffing everything back into the pockets they'd come from. The grand total had come to $3.29, three mini-tubes of lube, five condoms, some used kleenex, and a crumpled picture torn from a newspaper. A picture of three very proud F.B.I. agents at a news conference, confirming the end of a crime ring that had been influencing and controlling government agencies since the late 1940s. A picture of A.D. Walter Skinner, Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D., and Special Agent Fox Mulder, Ph.D. A picture Alex Krycek, manipulator extroirdinair, had carried around with him since the day his world had fallen down around his ears, five years ago.

_It hadn't been bad at first, with most of the Consortium gone, Alex had had his resources to fall back on; hidden accounts, bolt-holes, well-placed sources. Unfortunately, the one enemy he'd had in the Consortium, C.G.B. Spender, had survived and when, one by one, his sources dried up, and then his accounts started disappearing, Alex suspected that Spender was behind it. Then, two years ago, he was attacked in his last bolt-hole in Montana, and driven out, quite literally into the cold. He'd been left homeless, penniless, friendless, connectionless, in Denver in December, with only the clothes on his back, so he fell back onto something he swore he'd never do - hustling. With his pale skin, dark hair, and big, green eyes, he had johns whenever he hit the streets._

_But, for some reason, though he suspected Spender was behind it, he could never quite get ahead. Fall behind, oh, hell yes, he could fall behind. He had spent months last year, in the summer, outdoors. He couldn't get a room no matter what he sold, any abandoned building he tried to stay in burned down, any car he crashed in was rousted by the police and towed, and no john would take him to a motel or would even let him do them in their car. That bad stretch ended after it had started raining in October. He'd caught a cold, which turned into pneumonia, which had ended up with him in the back room of a street clinic after a social worker trying to get kids off the street heard him trying to cough up a lung in an alley._

And now? Well, right now he couldn't even afford to buy another bullet if the first one missed.

"That's right. You'd better not miss." The sibilate words came from the now open doorway of his room.

Alex glanced up to confirm the owner of the voice, then returned his gaze down to the gun in his lap, held loosely in his remaining hand. "Come to gloat?" He asked quietly.

"Gloat? My dear boy, I can do that from a distance." Spender took a puff from his ever present cigarette. "No, I've come to offer you a proposition."

"Amazing. That's what I get arrested for a lot these days. Propositioning." Alex remarked, his voice uninflected.

"Yes. Well, maybe I can be of some assistance with that problem." The smoker's voice was calm and quiet.

"In return for?"

"An item to be delivered to me in three days time. I'll tell you where it is, and where to drop it off."

"And in payment, I'll get?"

The smoker smiled, a sight that never failed to chill Alex. "A new arm, perhaps? I see that you seem to be . . . missing one."

Alex fought not to let any emotions betray himself. One of the last things he'd been forced to sell to survive was his prosthetic arm. It hadn't been the newest, or the greatest, but at least it gave himself, and others, the preying creatures, an illusion of normality. His first attack and non-consensual rape had come the day after he'd sold his arm. He'd fought back, which was why he was down to a single bullet, but he'd lost, only keeping his leather jacket from his attackers because he'd refused to uncurl from his fetus-like position, gun clenched to his belly; they'd have had to cut the jacket off of him to get it off, and that would have ruined its value.

Ignoring the jibe, he asked, "What's the item?"

The smoker took his time in answering, first putting out his cigarette on the floor under his toe, then lighting a fresh one. "You haven't said whether or not you've accepted my proposition yet, Alex."

Alex looked up and, for the first time, met Spender's cold, gray eyes. "A pickup and delivery for an arm." At the smoker's nodded agreement, he continued, "What's the catch?"

"Catch? Alex, you surprise me. I'm merely offering you a chance to get back into my good graces."

"Why? Have I suffered enough for your tastes?" Alex asked sarcastically.

"Not nearly," Spender stated coldly. The anger of his reply surprised him. He paused to smoke for a minute, to bring himself back under control. "But it has become . . . shall we say . . . tiresome, watching you suffer in the same manner all the time."

"You're bored?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Precisely." Spender paused for a puff. "Well?"

Alex surged to his feet, then paused to steady himself against the wall, silently cursing the dizziness he suffered due to his lack of food. Leaning against the wall with what was left of his left arm, he placed the gun between the stump and his body and moved the slide back, then released it, chambering the final round in the clip. Taking the gun securely in his right hand and turning, he pointed the weapon at Spender and said, "Never. I prostituted myself to you before I got out of Quantico, I lost the best partner I could have ever had at the F.B.I because of you, and because of you, I've been forced to become the whore you made me to stay alive."

"So, then, you're going to kill me?" The smoker blinked, inhaled, and watched. "I don't believe you've got it in you, Alex."

Alex barked out a harsh laugh. God, he'd always hated it when the bastard was right. As much as he hated this man, hated what he had become, he knew that he was the one to blame. Spender had never made him do what he didn't allow himself be pushed into doing. "You know what, Spender? You're right. I've never been the cold-blooded killer you've made me out to be." He shifted to place the muzzle of the gun under his own chin. "But I never claimed that suicide was out of my reach."

"Krycek, no!" Came a voice from out in the hallway as suddenly the room, his home, was full of people.

A hand gently pulled the gun away from his chin, and out of his hand, as a calm voice said, "It's okay, Alex, you don't have to do this. We can take care of it now."

Alex glanced around for the owner of the voice, then looked down into big blue eyes surrounded by a halo of red hair. He frowned, saying, "Agent Scully? What are you doing here?"

"Arresting Spender," she replied as she led him over to sit on his bed. "You're shaking. When was the last time you ate?"

"Tuesday," he responded automatically, still not sure what was going on. His mind refused to focus; too many years of too much going on, followed by too many years of nothing going on caused a short circuit. His eyes traveled around his room, watching as Spender was handcuffed by someone who looked vaguely familiar. "What'd he do wrong? Why are you arresting him?" _And not me_ , was left unsaid.

"Because he killed his son," Scully answered patiently, still looking at Krycek closely. "Today's Tuesday, Krycek. You ate today?"

Krycek broke off gazing around the room to look at Scully. "Today's Tuesday? It can't be, I haven't eaten today, so it can't be Tuesday yet."

Scully inhaled sharply at Krycek's twisted logic. "You haven't eaten since last week?" At Krycek's nod, she said, "Mulder, get over here. Give me your stash."

Fox Mulder, who'd been quite happily reading C.G.B. Spender his rights, after handcuffing the man, moved over to Scully's side, handing her the baggy he always kept in his pocket.

He, Scully, and Skinner had been trying to find Spender ever since the downfall of the Consortium. It had been the Lone Gunmen who were finally able to reconstruct the security video of Mulder's office in the Hoover, showing the confrontation between Spender Senior and Spender Junior, and also showing Senior shooting Junior, then exiting the building.

Their trail had led them to Denver, Colorado last week and to the surprising anchor that was keeping the smoker in one place: Alex Krycek. All three had assumed the one-time agent was long-dead after he'd disappeared once the Consortium did. Finding him alive was an added bonus for Mulder, who had fallen hard for this young man when they'd been partnered together, whose betrayal had hurt more than anything had since Samantha's abduction, and who'd never quite believed that what Krycek had done was un-coerced.

_They'd talked, late into the night, after Krycek had killed his first man, Cole, during the Sleepless case. Well, Krycek had talked, Mulder has commiserated; they'd both gotten drunk, Mulder on beer, Krycek on vodka; and Krycek had ended up sleeping on Mulder's couch, wrapped in his arms, the best sleep Mulder'd gotten in years. The next morning had been slightly awkward, a little hung over, but it had forged a bond between the two that Mulder had never forgotten. He'd always hoped that that was why Krycek never fought back when his temper got the best of him and he pummeled his ex-partner._

"Scully?" Mulder asked as his partner dug into the bag and pulled out the granola bar he always carried with him.

She peeled it open and placed it in Krycek's hand, saying, "Eat."

Alex, who'd been watching Mulder, looked down at his hand, then at Scully. "Thanks," he said, biting off a small bit, and began chewing.

"Scully?" Mulder repeated, watching the now not-so-young man, feed himself carefully.

"He hasn't eaten since last week, Mulder. I thought it was best." She nodded her head towards the rest of the room. "How's it going?"

Mulder touched the comm unit in his ear, murmured into his mike, then responded. "The rest of Spender's men have been rounded up, and Smokey himself has been secured in a solitary containment vehicle. It's over. What about him?" He finished, indicating Krycek, who had taken another bite and was again chewing slowly.

"I'd say he's malnourished, dehydrated, and he appears slightly suicidal, but that could be due to circumstances." She swept his body with a clinical eye. "Without a complete physical I can't be sure what he could be infected with."

" 'm cln," Alex mumbled around his latest mouthful. Swallowing he repeated, "I'm clean. Johns won't pay unless you're clean, too much competition on the street. The Eastside Clinic gives regular exams and shots. You pay if you can." He looked from Mulder's face to Scully's, shrugged, took another bite and continued eating.

Mulder couldn't contain himself any longer. "Krycek, how can you just sit there and eat?" He exclaimed. "Doesn't any of what's gone on here bother you?"

Alex finished off the granola bar and neatly licked his fingers before answering. "Why should it?" He began ticking off his points by holding his fingers up, "Either everything has been taken care of and I survived, or this is all a dream brought on by malnutrition and I'm dying or," his gaze sweeping from one agent to the other, "this is the one I'm betting on, I finally gave up, tucked my gun under my chin and pulled the trigger, and this is my mind's sick way of reliving my life." His brow furrowed then. "But that can't be right, because although I've spent a lot of time dreaming about you Mulder, Scully was never in my dreams, and you were always naked."

Scully bit her lip to keep her snorted laugh from escaping as Mulder turned a brilliant shade of red.

Alex looked from one to the other, then at the baggy in Scully's hand. He continued, "On the off-chance that I'm not dying, got anything else to eat?" Dana merely handed him the bag and walked away, her shoulders shaking with her silent laughter. Picking some M&M's out of the bag, he addressed Mulder. "And, for that matter, since when do you carry actual food with you?"

Coming out of his embarrassment to answer the question he said, "About three years now; found out I was hypoglycemic, that's why I was always popping sunflower seeds." He watched Krycek devour the candies.

Krycek nodded, digging through the baggie for the cheese and crackers on the bottom. Stuffing them in his mouth, he said, "Makes sense. Got anything to drink?"

Mulder pulled a juice-box out of his other pocket, pierced it with its straw and handed it to Krycek. He squatted down on the floor beside the bed and said, "You haven't eaten since last week?"

Sucking in the tart liquid, Alex said, "Yeah. See, if I kept it to a schedule, I could train my body not to expect food any other time. I'd eat as much as I could, then set my internal clock to get hungry next week."

"How," Mulder swallowed, then continued, "how long has this been going on?"

Alex shrugged, "A year? Two? Three? Who knows? It's over now."

Mulder stood and put his hand on Krycek's shoulder. "C'mon Alex, let's get you out of here."

Krycek froze, then moved his eyes to look from Mulder's hand on his shoulder up to the man it was attached to. "Get your hand off of me, Mulder. I don't need your help, your charity or your sympathy. I was doing just fine alone, and without that bastard on my ass, I'm sure I'll be doing much better. Now move it before you draw back a bloody stump." His voice was hard and cold.

"That's something you've got a lot of experience with, huh, Krycek," Mulder couldn't stop himself from sniping as he casually lifted his hand and put it into his pocket. Grateful that the room was now empty except for himself, Krycek and Scully, who was unobtrusively leaning in the doorway, facing the hall, giving the men any time together they needed, Mulder took a deep breath and let it out while he retrieved the room's chair and moved it over beside the bed. "Alex, we need to talk."

Noisily draining the juice box, Alex started to throw it away, then realized that he had no place for it. To keep rats and vermin away, he'd never brought food into his room, so he'd never needed a trash container. Holding it awkwardly in his hand, he said bitterly, "Talk. Well, that's something new. Usually by this time you've beaten the crap out of me and you're ready to shoot me, something the lovely Agent Scully prevents. That's why she's still here, isn't it? To keep you from ruining the bust by killing the whore, right?" His green eyes bored up into Mulder's hazel ones.

Shoving the chair he'd never sat down in away from him, he said, "Dammit, Krycek, I'm trying to apologize!" His voice rose, "I was wrong, okay? You were right all along! Is that all right with you?"

Krycek, euphoric in his triumph over Mulder, stood abruptly from the bed. "I knew it! You hit me because . . ." his voice faded out to a simple, "oh, fuck," as he slid down the wall, unconscious, the juice box rolling out of his limp hand.

"Shit," Mulder cursed, catching the body, then yelled, "Scully, help!"

~o0o0o~

Alex slowly woke up to the muffled sounds of something screaming. Cracking open an eye, he saw a vaguely reptilian form with wings glued on it fighting what looked like a snake with legs glued on it. _TV, that's gotta be TV, otherwise my world's gone monochrome_ , he thought, letting his eye track around the rest of the room. _Not bad_ , he mused, _the john must be makin' some bucks to haul my sorry ass into this cushy room_. Opening his other eye, he stretched and looked around. _Strange, though, I don't remember how I got here._ He sat up, noticed he was still dressed, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. _He musta hit me with some Rohypnol and I passed out him before we could get started_. He shook his head, _Stupid amateurs_. A door opening and closing behind him caused him to spin around on the bed, making him close his eyes and hold his head until the dizziness passed.

As firm hands pushed him back down on the bed, a familiar voice said, "Christ, Alex, can't you even stay down while you're sick?" Memories flooded back over him; Spender, the gun, Scully, Mulder . . . Mulder. Mulder's voice calming him. Mulder's hands pressing him down; Mulder's fingers brushing hair off his forehead.

Alex opened his eyes. "I'm not dead, am I?" It was more a statement than a question.

"No," Mulder chuckled, "you're not."

Krycek cocked an eyebrow. "Dying or in a vegetative state?"

Mulder shook his head, lips pursed to keep his laughter in. "Sorry, nope."

Confused, Alex thought, _Then why are you being so nice to me?_ Not realizing until too late that he'd spoken out loud.

Mulder's smile was warm, as he sat down on the bed next to Alex. "Why shouldn't I be? Like I said before you checked out on us at the motel, you were right, I was wrong, all along."

Krycek's mind whirled. Something wasn't right here. It was like someone had dumped a jigsaw puzzle on a table and was trying to get the pieces to fit with a sledgehammer. Mulder apologizing to him? Mulder being nice to him? Mulder saying that he was right? He caught Mulder's hand as it toyed with the hair at the base of his neck. "Stop that. Something's not right here, Mulder. I need to think."

"You used to call me Fox," Mulder said quietly, turning his hand to mesh fingers with Alex.

"Only to piss you off," he admitted. He pulled his hand free and let it sweep around to indicate the room. "Why all this?"

Mulder looked around himself, confused. "All what? It's a hotel room."

Alex snorted. "If this is a hotel room, then the rat traps we used to stay in were refrigerator boxes."

Mulder laughed lightly, saying, "Well, sometimes the job is worth the perks. I'm an Assistant Director now, Scully's in charge of Forensics for the Bureau, and Skinner's the Deputy Director in line for the Director-ship when Whittles retires next year."

Krycek's brow furrowed. This was getting even harder to believe. Mulder? In charge of other agents? He shook his head.

"What's wrong?" Mulder asked curiously.

"Nothing. So, now what?"

Mulder shrugged, one hand still on Krycek's chest. He seemed unable or unwilling to not be in contact with the man. "Whatever you want. It's your show from now on."

Nodding, he took Mulder at his word, his mind too befuddled to think straight. He sat up again, slower this time, and, as Mulder stood up, swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Right now I'd like to get cleaned up, and get something to eat." As he made to rise, Mulder gave him a hand up, not releasing his elbow until he was standing steady. Looking around him, he asked, "Where's the bathroom?" and when Mulder pointed, left the room, closing the door behind himself.

~o0o0o~

Alex stretched, twisted and moaned softly, enjoying the play of the hot water over his tired body. The glass-enclosed shower had three showerheads, one on each side and one that came down from the ceiling. He was luxuriating in being totally surrounded by clean, hot water, and lathering himself repeatedly with the softly-scented soap he'd found in the soap dish. He had purposefully shut his mind off when he stepped into the shower, determined to enjoy this experience.

He was doing the best he could with a washcloth at cleaning his right arm, when a voice broke in, asking, "Can I help?

Turning, he smiled at the sight of a shirtless Fox Mulder, his hand out reaching for the washcloth.

Smiling brightly, he said, "Sure," then gave the cloth to Mulder. Turning to face the showerheads, he said, "Can you do my back too?"

"Glad to." Fox soaped up the cloth and gently cleaned Krycek's right shoulder and arm, down to his fingers, then re-soaped and washed the man's back, noting scars, old and new, and bruises, old and new, and the general play of the muscles underneath the pale skin. His gaze lingered on the remains of the left arm, the badly truncated stump.

Krycek's voice broke the spell. "It's strange, huh?"

Guiltily looking up into Krycek's eyes, he asked, "What's strange?"

Alex turned so he wasn't looking over his shoulder. "You. Turning up when you did. Like the song says, 'just when I needed you most'." He frowned and shook his head. "I didn't used to be so sappy," he apologized. His face brightened, "But in any case, thanks for doing my back. I haven't been able to wash it in ages."

The soft smile he gave Mulder made Mulder's stomach clench and release in anguish. This was the Alex Krycek he'd fallen in love with. This was the man whose betrayal had hurt him so much. This was also the man who'd been proven innocent by proxy when the Consortium paperwork files had arrived on Mulder's desk late one night; delivered from, he suspected, the Consortium member he'd privately labeled "The Well-Manicured Man". And even though he hadn't wanted to believe, it was Scully, in the end, who had forced him to accept the fact that Krycek had been nothing more than a well-trained lackey, doing the bidding of the Consortium, and Spender in particular, to keep his own skin in one piece.

"You're welcome," he choked out through a suddenly constricted throat. He turned and grabbed a towel. "You about done?"

Krycek shook his head. "No, I still have to wash my hair, it's disgusting," he smiled again.

"Want a hand?" Mulder offered, then grimaced at his own words.

Alex's smiled widened, "Don't worry about it. The words, I mean. Sure, I'd love a hand." He moved to one side to make room as Mulder quickly skinned out of his shoes, socks, trousers, and briefs, and joined him in the enclosure.

Taking the shampoo, he poured a bit into his palm, then started rubbing the soap into Krycek's hair, gently at first, then harder, massaging the scalp as Krycek began purring under his hands.

"Oh, man, that feels so good. I can't remember the last time I had enough hot water and time to use it."

"Hold still, or I'm going to get soap in your eyes," Mulder cautioned with a grin. Krycek was twisting and turning, rubbing his body against Mulder's, thoroughly enjoying this experience.

"Okay, fine," he conceded, turning until he was facing Mulder, his head ducked down, presenting it for scrubbing.

Mulder turned him to rinse the shampoo out, then re-applied more, continuing the wash. He dug in with his fingertips, working the scalp, knowing how good this felt to himself. He was having some trouble concentrating, though, because he could see Alex's erection beginning to bob slowly between his legs. It was long and heavy, the foreskin still covering the head. He could feel his own groin flushing in response. Trying to get his mind off of the sight before him, he said, "Do you use a conditioner?"

Turning his head so he could look up, Alex said, "Excuse me?"

Mulder gestured with soapy hands. "On your hair, a conditioner."

Krycek laughed and ducked his head down again. "Are you kidding? I'm lucky to find soap leftover in that communal pit they generously call a bathroom." He shut up then as Mulder turned his head back under the spray for the final rinse. Stepping back out of the enclosure while Alex finished rinsing off, he waited with a large ivory bath towel outspread until Alex stepped out, following him, and into his embrace.

Allowing Mulder to dry him, he said, his voice slightly muffled by the towel over his head. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but why are you doing it?"

Scuffing the towel over Krycek's shaggy hair, Mulder was silent, then said, "Because I love you."

Alex spun to face him, still wrapped in terrycloth. "You what?" He gasped out, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"I love you," Mulder repeated, softly this time.

It was like a light had been turned off, like a shade had been drawn over the windows of his soul. A mask slammed down on Krycek's face, leaving it blank, his eyes, dead. "Don't do this, Mulder. The smoker tried to get me to do this with my own gun, don't use your words."

Confused, Mulder released the towel, and Krycek retreated to the bathroom door, his back hard against it. "Do what, Alex? Tell the truth?" He shook his head. "I'm done lying to myself and to you. I should have admitted it to you the first night we spent together on my couch, and I've cursed myself every day since."

Swallowing heavily, Krycek said, "Is that why you beat me? Why you hurt me? Why you dragged me to Tunguska to be butchered?" He shook his head from side to side. "If this is your idea of love, I sure as **fuck** don't want to be your enemy."

Even staring at the pain and confusion on Krycek's face, Mulder couldn't help but bark out a laugh. He shrugged, saying, "Okay, so maybe I'm not so good at relationships."

"Relationships?" Krycek exclaimed. "You call what we've got a relationship?" He snorted, ducked his shaking head, and chewed on his lip. He looked up through dark lashes, "I'm your enemy, Mulder, in case you've forgotten that."

Mulder shook his head, "No, no you're not. You're a victim of circumstances. Circumstances that put us on opposite sides."

Krycek shook his head in denial. "I'm not a fucking victim," he said heatedly. "Nobody makes me do what I don't agree to doing."

Incensed, Mulder shot back, "Oh yeah? Is that why you were selling your ass on street corners for twenty bucks? Ten for a blowjob if I remember what the report said correctly."

Krycek's eyes burned with hatred for the man standing nude in front of him. "You bastard," he growled out, the truth of the statement stinging him to the core. He scrambled to keep the towel around him and to get the door open, when Mulder slammed into his back.

"You're not going anywhere until we get this settled," Mulder said quietly into his ear.

"Get what settled, asshole?" Krycek rebutted, not moving. "I'm a whore, you're an A.D. Last time those two elements got together, the whore ended up dead. Looking for a repeat?"

At Krycek's words, Mulder released the man and backed off. "Is that what you think, Alex?" His reply was just as heated. "That the only reason I've risked my life and my career is to get you back to my hotel room, with Scully right next door, is to kill you? You can't be that stupid."

Alex turned to face him. "Not stupid, Mulder, just accepting of my circumstances," Krycek said sadly.

Not liking the way this conversation was going, Mulder tried another tack. "Did you really used to dream about me?"

Alex's head came up sharply, his eyes meeting Mulder's. "No," he denied. "Where'd you come up with that nonsense?" Belaying the sharp look in his eye, Alex's voice was shaky with emotion; Mulder had hit a nerve. "No," he repeated, swallowing hard against a suddenly restricted throat. "No, you never, I mean, I never . . . ." Suddenly tear-filled eyes dropped, Krycek not wanting Mulder to see his shame.

Fox stepped up and wrapped his arms around the stunned man. "Tell me, Alex. It goes no farther. You and me," he said softly.

Krycek was quiet, taking deep breaths and swallowing to calm himself. He allowed himself tears, but he never allowed himself to cry. He relaxed inside Mulder's embrace and permitted his arm to snake around Fox's waist. "I've always dreamed about you," he began quietly, "but it wasn't until Denver . . . ." his voice trailed off as he took a deep breath and laid his head on Mulder's shoulder. "How much do you know about Denver, Mulder?"

Fox's brow furrowed in concentration. "Well, it's the nation's highest capitol. It was founded in . . ." Alex pinched him. "Ouch! What'd you do that for?"

Alex smiled against his shoulder. "You know why." The smile disappeared. "What do you know?"

Mulder sighed; he'd hoped they could avoid this conversation until later, much later. "Only what was gathered in the last two weeks - that Spender was here and that he had been for a while. It wasn't until a week ago that we found out he was, " Mulder shrugged, at a loss for words, "watching you, controlling what went on with you." He paused for a breath, then said, in a rush, "At first we thought he was your pimp." He went silent, waiting for Krycek's explosion, which never came.

All he got was a simple, "And?"

Confused at Krycek's non-response, he continued, "And the more we watched, the more we realized that he was manipulating your situation. Then we did some background checking on you." He snuggled Alex closer to himself. "It was never your fault, Alex. That bastard had you tied up six ways to Sunday. There was no way you were going to break free from his grasp."

Alex nodded minutely. "That's the same conclusion I'd come to."

At the bleak note in Krycek's voice, all Fox could say was, "It's over now, Alex. You don't have to deal with that black-lunged bastard ever again."

"I've heard that one before," Alex muttered, shifting in Fox's arms.

"What's that?" Mulder asked curiously.

Alex sighed and said, still talking into Mulder's shoulder, "That's what my Consortium benefactor told me after the smoker was shot the last time. Then I ended up dragging his ass back from Canada."

"Well you don't have to worry about him any more. He was transported in a secure vehicle to a solitary holding cell. He's under twenty-four seven surveillance, with guards that I hand picked, until his trial. After the bastard's sentenced, he's going into a high security federal penitentiary." At Krycek's beginning protest, Fox continued. "And all of that's contingent on him not killing himself." He put his hands on Krycek's shoulders and pushed himself away so he could look into Alex's blank eyes. "Alex. The man's support system is gone. He's alone. There's no one left for him to call on or fall back on. For all intents and purposes he's dead."

Alex snorted. "Yeah. Well, I'll believe that when I'm pissing on his grave."

Mulder hugged Alex back to him. "I'll join you. Now get dressed. I'm taking you out to dinner." He released the man and exited the bathroom.

Krycek stood at a loss for a moment, then dropped his towel and moved to put back on the clothes he'd taken off before his shower.

"Oh, wait," Mulder's head popped back in.

Alex turned, waiting for him to speak, eyebrow raised at the bemused expression on Mulder's face.

Blinking, realizing he'd been caught looking, Mulder said, "Um, oh, yeah, don't put those on. I've got some other clothes for you out here." He disappeared again.

Something in what Mulder said, or how he said it, make Krycek's self-preservation instinct rise up. Everything was going too good. He had gone from a rat-infested whore's crib to a high priced hotel suite in the space of a few hours. Every instinct he had screamed that this was wrong! Shunting all the desires he had to accept this change in situation, including Mulder's suddenly revealed desires for him, to the deepest part of his soul, he pulled on his old clothes, wincing at their smell. Having lived in the filth, he hadn't noticed it, but now that he was clean, the aroma was apparent.

As he pulled his worn black jacket on, his armor against the world, he watched his reflection in the mirror, schooling his expression to nothing; to the blank mask he wore every day on the streets. Smoothing his unruly hair as best he could, he took a deep breath, let it out, and exited the bathroom.

Mulder, who had been sitting on the end of the room's bed channel-surfing, looked up, saying, "What took you so . . . ." then stopped speaking when he saw that Krycek was dressed. Brow furrowed, he stood and asked, "Alex," his tone both confused and plaintive.

"Where's my gun?" Alex asked coldly.

"Alex," Fox repeated, "What's wrong? I thought . . . ."

"You thought a lot of things. My gun?" Alex steeled himself against the hurt radiating off the FBI agent. When Mulder pointed to the bedside drawer, Krycek brushed by the mystified man.

"Alex, what's wrong? Why are you doing this?"

Pulling his gun from the drawer, he popped the clip out and said, "I'm going back to my life. Got any rounds?" Before Mulder could answer, he said, "No, nevermind. You've got to account for every one of those bullets, and I don't want you having to do the paperwork until you retire." He pushed the clip back into the gun, put the safety on and tucked it into the right-hand pocket of his jacket.

Mulder's temper got the best of him. As Krycek moved away from the bed towards the door, Mulder came up behind him and shoved him against a wall. "What difference does it make to you what I do until I retire?" He snarled as Krycek slammed into the wall. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I told you," Krycek snarled back. "I'm going back to my life."

"But you don't have to," Mulder yelled. "It's over! It's fucking over!"

"It's never fucking over!" Krycek yelled back. "Don't you get it Mulder? It never stops! They never stop!" Pushing off of the wall, he dislodged Mulder and turned to face him. "I don't have an easy life. I have to watch my ass every hour of every day!"

"No you don't!" Mulder returned the yell. "I'm here for you, damn it!"

"Don't give me that bullshit! You were never there for me when I needed you! Never!" Angry tears leaked down his face that he hastily wiped away.

Mulder's temper suddenly cooled. He held out his hand to the angry man. "I'm here for you now, Alex," he said gently.

The tender, pleading tone almost broke Krycek's resistance. "God damn you, Mulder. I'm just not meant for happily every after. Can't you get that through your thick skull?" His voice was hard and raspy, the tears evident.

Surrounding the tense man with his long arms, he pressed Krycek's head to his shoulder and laughed softly. "I sincerely doubt that 'happily' could ever characterize our relationship, Alex. But I have no doubts about the 'ever after' part."

"Damn it, Mulder," Krycek cursed, forcing his arm to stay tense - to not curl around Mulder's inviting body. "Don't do this."

"Do what?" Fox was running his hand up and down Krycek's back.

Krycek had to swallow hard to keep the tears gathering from choking him. "Get my hopes up and then throw me away," he whispered.

The words ripped at Mulder's heart. He had hurt this man so badly in the past that it had taken Scully months to convince him that Krycek would, as she put it, accept his advances. And here was the proof - Alex Krycek, Consortium agent extrordinaire - tense and trembling in his arms; afraid to love and afraid to let himself be loved. Mulder dipped his head and kissed Krycek on his temple. He murmured, "I love you," his lip brushing the soft hair.

Krycek made a choked noise, put his arm around Mulder's waist and pulled him tight.

Fox made out choked words that could have been, "Oh, God, Mulder, please don't do this."

"Do what?" He whispered into Alex's temple. "Love you? Sorry, I can't help myself. I've wanted this for far too long. I love you Alex Krycek and I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

Hearing Krycek mumbling, "No, no, no, no, I can't do this," Mulder continued with his tale.

"I can just picture us. Two old farts sitting in matching rocking chairs on the front porch of the retirement home, shaking our canes at the young whippersnappers walking by. Won't that be fun? Hmm? We can even chase the little old blue-haired ladies together."

Krycek gave a teary chuckle and said, "Don't you dare. Your ass, as old and as wrinkled as it may get, is mine."

"Wanna prove it now?" Mulder purred, instantly aroused by Krycek's possessive tone.

Raising his head to meet Mulder's eyes, Alex said, "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. You, me, lube, the bed. How's that sound?"

"You . . . you still want me?" Krycek hesitantly said. "After what I . . . ."

"What you had to do to survive was just that - survival. What's between us begins here and now, a clean slate. Now, which would you prefer? The bed or the shower? Upright or horizontal?"

"You really want to do this." It was a statement, not a question.

Mulder gave a dramatic sigh. "How many times do I have to say this? Alex, I love you. Alex, I want to fuck you. But right now, Alex, I want you to fuck me. Is that clear enough?"

Krycek's eyes had gone dark with arousal. "Perfectly. Vertical. In the shower. Now." He began to strip off his clothes while Mulder did the same. "Ugh," he remarked, "these have to be burned. Except for my jacket."

"Not a problem," Mulder said as he skinned out of his boxers, revealing a nicely burgeoning erection. "I plan on keeping you naked for a month or two at least."

Naked, Alex walked up to Fox and began licking his throat. "And how are you planning to get any work done?"

Purring, Mulder pulled Krycek into the bathroom without dislodging his tongue. "Medical leave. I'll get Scully to testify that I'm suffering from that dreaded Hawaiian disease, lackanookie, which can only be cured by a sizeable application of comeoniwannalayya."

Krycek broke off his licking to look at Mulder. "You're sick. You know that, don't you?"

Fox took Alex's head in his hands and kissed him soundly and thoroughly. "You're right," he said after he released the panting man. "I am sick. Sick of being alone. Sick of wanting you. And incredibly sick of denying how much I love you. Is that sick enough for you?"

Krycek pushed Mulder against the shower door and kissed him hard. "It's sick," he growled and kissed him again. "It's perverted." A growl and a kiss. "I like that in a person. Now get in the shower."

Seeing the fire blazing in Alex's dark eyes, Fox spun, opened the door and slipped into the shower, followed by his favorite wraith. He turned on the water and adjusted its temperature with Alex plastered to his back, nipping and licking his neck and shoulders.

Alex's hand was playing across his chest, moving from one nipple to the other, flicking and tweaking them, forcing Fox to lock his knees to keep from dropping to the floor. Krycek's hand strayed from its path down to Mulder's groin, to the large, hot cock he'd wanted since the first time he'd seen Mulder in those damned red Speedo's. He stroked up, then down again, shuddering as his own cock throbbed in time with Mulder's. He'd had plenty of sex in the last two years, but none of it had felt as good as this - standing in a warm shower with the man who loved him, getting ready to fuck said man through the wall. "Mulder," he managed to gasp. "Lube?"

Fox pried one hand loose from the tile to hand Krycek the hair conditioner he'd mentioned earlier.

Krycek chuckled as he saw the bottle. "You're bound and determined to get that shit on me, aren't you?"

Mulder turned his head to see what Krycek was talking about with a "huh?"

Alex shook his head at Fox's sex-addled expression. "Nevermind. Pour some into my hand."

Mulder turned until he could do so, then resumed his position, moaning as one, then two fingers penetrated him. "Oh, yeah, Alex, oh, yeah."

"Feel good, Fox?" Krycek said, concentrating on loosening the tight passage, his cock jealous of his fingers.

"Fuck, yeah," Fox moaned loudly, pushing back against Alex's hand.

Pulling his fingers free, he nudged Mulder on his arm, who obligingly if shakily squirted more of the slippery liquid into Alex's hand. He returned his hand to Mulder's opening, pressing in with three fingers this time to Mulder's loud, appreciative moan. Working the fingers back in, he stretched the protective muscle, his head down, resting on Fox's shoulder, concentrating on not hurting his partner and not coming before he entered his partner.

"Fox," he growled, his control fraying. "Condom."

Mulder forced is brain to understand what Alex had just said. . . _Protection. The man wants protection._  "No," he gasped out. "I'm clean. You're clean. I want you bare. Now."

Alex shivered at the desire and need in Fox's voice, but he had to ask. "Are you sure? I mean, God I want this. I want you. But no protection . . . Fox, are you sure?"

"Yes, damn it, I'm sure! Now, fuck me!"

The savage, demanding tone set Alex's heart on fire. He withdrew his fingers and wiped the remaining conditioner on his cock and thrust into Mulder, pausing only when he was fully sheathed.

Mulder screamed, "Alex!" partly in pain, partly in pleasure.

"Hard enough for you, Fox?" Alex growled, his hand gripping Mulder's hip hard, his pelvis slamming into his lover's ass. "Is this what you needed, Fox? Alex Krycek, rat bastard, fucking your ass? Is this what you need?"

"Oh yeah, " Mulder grunted out between the thrusts pressing him into the shower wall. "Fuck, yeah."

"Good, Fox, but you know what I want?" Alex stopped thrusting until Fox shook his head. "I want you, partner. I want you to fuck me. I want you to come in me so hard that you'll pass out." He withdrew and thrust a couple of times. "So don't you dare come, Mulder, cuz it's my turn. I get to come first." And Alex did, his hand locked on Mulder's hip, he head on Mulder's shoulder, whimpering as his orgasm roared out of him, his own hips pumping spastically. As soon as he was able, he pulled out of his hot sheath, released Mulder and turned away, leaning his body on the shower door, waiting for Mulder to fuck him.

It was a moment before Mulder felt stable enough to turn after Krycek pulled out of him. He was hard, he wanted to come so bad it hurt, but he didn't want Alex this way. It smacked too much of what he figured Alex had gone through surviving on the streets. He took and released a deep breath, stepped up behind the positioned man and kissed him gently on the nape of his neck. "Not this way," he said quietly. As Alex turned, Fox turned the water off, took his hand and lead him out of the shower, out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom area, still wet.

With his free hand, he pulled the comforter off the bed, but left the blankets in place. He didn't want them to have an entire bed as the wet spot. Laying down, he pulled Alex down next to him, murmuring, "I've waited for this for so long. Love you, Alex," well aware that Krycek had yet to return the sentiment. With Alex on his back, Fox began kissing the moisture off his face, working his way down until he was lapping the liquid that had gathered in the hollow at the base of his throat.

Krycek was about to go insane from the heat of Mulder's body covering his and the soft tongue drying him. "Fox," he croaked out, "what are you doing?"

Mulder looked up from his ministrations and met Alex's wild eyes. "Making love to you," he said simply and returned to his task. By this time he'd reached Krycek's nipples and the man was writhing in ecstasy.

"Oh sweet God, Mulder!" Alex's hand was locked on Mulder's shoulder, his head was thrown back in the pillows and his chest arched up to meet the tormenting mouth.

Mulder stopped licking and looked up innocently. "Are your nipples sensitive, Alex?"

Krycek's head shot up. "Like you can't goddamn tell!" He exclaimed. "Are you ever going to fuck me?"

Mulder ducked his head to hide his grin. "Hmm, maybe . . . ." he murmured into Krycek's skin, licking the few chest hairs dotting the man's chest.

Krycek slammed his head back down into his pillow. _Augh!_ he screamed in his mind. _I will not beg, I will not beg, I will not . . . ._ "Augh!" he screamed out loud when Fox stuck his tongue in his belly button. Fox laved the soft skin with his whole tongue, then traced each fold with just the tip, each touch sending erotic jolts down Krycek's nerve endings straight into his throbbing cock. "Damn you, Mulder," he hissed.

Unable to bear Krycek's torment any longer, Mulder sucked Alex's erection into his mouth and took him deep into his throat.

Krycek nearly levitated from the bed, only Mulder's weight on his legs holding him down. When his cock was released, he flopped back onto the bed, breathing hard. "Fuck, Mulder," he moaned.

"My idea exactly," Fox agreed with a big grin on his face. He sat up, reached over Alex and under a pillow, where, in anticipation of this kind of event, he had stashed a bottle of lube. Sitting up, he popped the flip top open, coated the fingers of one hand and gently inserted one finger into Alex's ass, not surprised at its looseness. He glanced up at his lover and was met with an expression full of regret.

"Fox, I . . . ." Alex began in apology.

"No regrets, Alex, no past before tonight," Fox assured the man.

"But I, I'm not," Alex tried again.

"Neither am I, babe," Fox said and leaned forward to place a kiss on Alex's lips. "Now lie back and enjoy."

He sat back up, re-lubed his fingers and began thrusting in and out, lubing the passage more than loosening it, until he could stand it no longer. He shifted so, with Alex's help, he got the man's legs up on his shoulders. Withdrawing his fingers, he replaced them with his cock, pushing in slowly as Alex moaned his appreciated. He set a slow pace, pulling out and entering again, forcing Alex to match him, all the time repeating, "I love you, Alex, God, how I love you."

Alex, for his part, could only thrash and scream soundlessly. He had his hand wrapped around his cock and was pumping hard and fast.

Because of how long Mulder had been waiting for this, he was unable to stave off his orgasm, which hit him hard. He kissed Alex then, sending his scream into his mouth, effectively stifling Alex's screams as he came as well.

Unable to collapse forward because Alex's legs were holding him in place, Fox leaned to his right and fell over, the legs still mostly in place. Both men lay still, breathing heavily, looking into each other's eyes.

Freeing his sticky hand, Alex wiped it off perfunctorily on the blanket and placed it on Mulder's cheek. "I love you, you know," he said softly, something inside him thawing for the first time in years.

Fox smiled, his heart bursting with joy. "I'd always hoped, Alex, I'd always hoped."

~fin~

 


End file.
